ociation with him. It seemed as if
Chamberlayne had made away with the money for his own purposes, and it
might be that it would yet be recovered. He would only ask the Court
to remember the prisoner's antecedents and his previous good conduct,
and to bear in mind that whatever his near future might be he was, in
a commercial sense, ruined for life.

"The Recorder, in passing sentence, said that he had not heard a
single word of valid excuse for Maitland's conduct. Such dishonesty
must be punished in the most severe fashion, and the prisoner must go
to penal servitude for ten years.

"Maitland, who heard the sentence unmoved, was removed from the town
later in the day to the county jail at Saxchester."

Spargo read all this swiftly; then went over it again, noting certain
points in it. At last he folded up the newspaper and turned to the
house--to see old Quarterpage beckoning to him from the library window.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE CHAMBERLAYNE STORY

"I perceive, sir," said Mr. Quarterpage, as Spargo entered the library,
"that you have read the account of the Maitland trial."

"Twice," replied Spargo.

"And you have come to the conclusion that--but what conclusion have you
come to?" asked Mr. Quarterpage.

"That the silver ticket in my purse was Maitland's property," said
Spargo, who was not going to give all his conclusions at once.

"Just so," agreed the old gentleman. "I think so--I can't think
anything else. But I was under the impression that I could have
accounted for that ticket, just as I am sure I can account for the
other forty-nine."

"Yes--and how?" asked Spargo.

Mr. Quarterpage turned to a corner cupboard and in silence produced a
decanter and two curiously-shaped old wine-glasses. He carefully
polished the glasses with a cloth which he took from a drawer, and set
glasses and decanter on a table in the window, motioning Spargo to take
a chair in proximity thereto. He himself pulled up his own elbow-chair.

"We'll take a glass of my old brown sherry," he said. "Though I say it
as shouldn't, as the saying goes, I don't think you could find better
brown sherry than that from Land's End to Berwick-upon-Tweed, Mr.
Spargo--no, nor further north either, where they used to have good
taste in liquor in my young days! Well, here's your good health, sir,
and I'll tell you about Maitland."

"I'm curious," said Spargo. "And about more than Maitland. I want to
know about a lot of things arising